Wednesday, November 16, 2016

My Lie

By the time
I was ten-years-old my parents had hammered into my head the importance of
telling the truth. Away from their influence, though, I forgot and suffered the
consequences. It all happened when my cousin and I were at Camp Fire Girls camp
for a week. The first evening there we unpacked inside our bunkhouse and readied
ourselves for the nighttime activity. Only my cousin convinced me that the
activity would be boring and a long walk away and we’d be better off staying in
our bunk. She had a plan how we could do that.

I was an
asthmatic child and had come to camp with my weekly allergy shots that the
nurse in the infirmary would give me on Monday morning. My mother had explained
to our counselor that I was allergic to dust and feathers and a whole list of
particles that flew in the air.

“Tell her,”
my cousin referred to the counselor, “that your asthma is bothering you and you
need to stay here. And I’ll say I want to keep you company.”

My cousin
didn’t force me to do what she said. She didn’t even threaten me to follow her
idea. Even though I really had no objection to the activity I let myself be
talked into the plan. The counselor wasn’t very sympathetic but agreed I should
stay in the bunk by myself and rest up. Her response to my cousin’s desire to
keep me company was rejected outright.

As I watched
my co-campers stroll down the path to who-knows-what my bunk seemed awfully
empty and lonely. Always a bookworm the idea of reading didn’t even appeal to
me. Making a quick decision I jumped off my cot, opened the screen door, and
sprinted after them.

“I’m feeling
better now,” I declared to my counselor.

The look she
gave me was one of pure disgust. It was unfortunate for me that this counselor,
probably no more than eighteen-years-old, had never learned the important verse
in Leviticus, chapter 19, verse 15. Do not do injustice in judgement, do not
favor the poor, do not honor the great, judge your fellow man justly.

Volumes*
have been written on this verse alone. Instead of seeing my lie as one isolated
incident in my life the counselor judged me as a sly, deceitful liar. There
were no thoughts of extenuating circumstances or benefit of the doubt. I was
pronounced guilty.

What
followed was a miserable week for me. For five years I’d already been sleeping
over at friends’ houses on a regular basis and spending a week without my
parents by relatives in Oklahoma every summer. Never had I been homesick, until
that that camp experience.

The postcard
I wrote my parents read Last night I dreamed that I was in the family room
with you and Lady (the dog) and I was so happy. When I woke up and knew
it was a dream I was sad. That postcard arrived home after I did.

I’d survived
that week but I never went away to camp again. I’ve never forgotten how
miserable that counselor made me feel. It’s probably that memory that makes me
feel so connected to the commandments we learn from that verse in Leviticus.
Seeing a child misbehaving, a woman pushing her way in line, or someone talking
on their cell phone during a lecture often remind of the lying little girl I
was once and how I didn’t want to be judged.

To the
counselor’s credit she taught me something big.
Despite my parents’ admonishments to tell the truth I never really
understood that a lie would sooner or later catch up to me. What my parents had
tried to hammer in my head she succeeded in entering into my heart.

I suppose I should
feel grateful to her for the lesson but the truth is I wish she had tried to
understand me better. After fifty-three years I guess the time has come to
forgive her.

*The
Other Side of the Story by Yehudis Samet is an excellent book about this
subject.

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Emunah, faith in God, does not mean believing only good things will happen; it means believing that whatever God does is for the best. I wrote these words at a time when drive-by shootings and suicide bombers had become almost weekly, if not daily, tragedies. Now, more than ten years later, the words are no less true. Whatever HaShem does is for the best. It is my hope to post articles, advice, and homey stories everyweekwhich will reinforce this fact. And now, a special thanks to:

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About Me

Born in Wichita, Kansas, I became a Baalat Teshuva, newly religious, in Phoenix, Arizona while attending ASU. After twelve years of marriage my husband and I made Aliyah with five children and settled in Shilo in the heart of Israel. Two more children joined the family as have daughters-in-law, sons-in-law, and grandchildren, Baruch HaShem. My favorite past times are learning, sewing, hiking, reading, cooking, baking, enjoying my family and friends, and, of course, writing. My first novel, Sondra’s Search, was published in 2007 and I am working on the sequel.